


To Your Stations

by corvidae9



Category: Mass Effect, The Octonauts (Cartoon)
Genre: Crack, Gen, can't stop giggling, crackdreams, crossovers, i love this so much, implied ships are implied, penguin banshees are still terrifying, shit got real, too many fish biscuits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 19:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10520094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvidae9/pseuds/corvidae9
Summary: Scenes from the Normandy, as manned by a crew of loyal creatures united to stop the Reaper threat and save their planets, led by the fearless Commander Barnacles, N7. (alternately titled: What Happens When Kwazii Eats Too Many Fish Biscuits Before Bed)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Actually, this is what happens when both you and your teenage son are rabid Octonauts fans and have played way too much Mass Effect. You can blame him directly for the “Barnacles Commander” bit (and yes, the vegemals are a hivemind).
> 
> I love this idea more than I should. Also, I apparently I can't stop shipping Shakarian even when they're Octonauts, and that's embarrassing.

###

 

Kwazii kept his heavy Claymore shotgun at the ready as he ran towards the shuttle on Commander Barnacles’ heels, his armor thunking hard with every step on the decking of the bunker’s roof. A cacophony of high-pitched _skreeeing_ followed from behind the sliding blast door hastily hacked to stay shut. He shot a look over his shoulder, then pulled up short and planted his feet aiming the huge gun towards the door. 

“Peso!” he shouted at the vaguely-glowing penguin who had done the hacking, and was hanging back holding his omnitool out towards the door. “Get your ass moving!”

“I’m trying!” Peso shouted over his own shoulder. “I’m also trying to make sure these… _things_ don’t eat us on the way!”

A particularly huge impact from the inside of the door made it bow outward just as the Commander arrived at the shuttle and shouted, “Peso, now!”

Peso turned and ran full tilt for the shuttle as Kwazii covered him. The kid zoomed past him and Kwazii retreated backwards, his eyes on the bulging door. He felt the Commander’s massive polar-bear-sized paw on the collar of his armor and his feet were no longer on the bunker. The shuttle door slammed shut just as the bunker door burst outward, and they were in the air.

Peso sat heavily in a jumpseat, looking a little shellshocked. He ran a hand over his face, then up over his head and exhaled.

“Alright, Peso?” asked the Commander, dropping a hand on the kid’s shoulder.

“No,” said the kid shakily. “No. Those… _things_. The shrieking things—those were penguins, weren’t they? Before the Reapers got to them?”

Commander Barnacles nodded gravely. “Yeah. Had to be.”

“I’m always surprised at how quick your tiny legs go,” said Kwazii with a snort and a shiver. “I mean they didn’t need to make ‘em faster. Or louder. Or bleedin’ terrifying. And what’s with the teleporting?”

Peso dropped his head and laced his hands over it with a sound of distress. The Commander patted his shoulder again. “None of this is okay,” he affirmed. “We _will_ stop them, Peso. Hang in there.” Barnacles headed up to check in with the shuttle pilot, and Kwazii took the seat next to the dejected Peso. He cracked the storage locker to his left and retrieved a handful of energy bars.

“Hey,” he said, offering Peso two. “Feed your freakish biotics, kid.”

Peso shook his head mutely and waved him off. Kwazii refused to take no for an answer.

“I saw you out there. You’ve gotta be starving.”

Peso shot him a dirty look that wasn’t actually for him, snatched one of the ration bars and ripped it open angrily. Kwazii patted his back, harder than was strictly comfortable.

“You heard the Commander, kid,” Kwazii said, gnawing at the packaging on his own. “We’re going to rip their spines out.” The penguin didn’t say anything, and Kwazii continued.

“Do Reapers have spines? Either way, I’mma rip one out and beat the sh—“

“Kwazii!” shouted Barnacles from the front of the shuttle. “That’s quite enough.” The large, scarred orange cat shrugged, ears flattening as he nodded. He’d gotten the point across. 

“I’ll help,” muttered Peso with a glint in his eye that Kwazii had never seen. It was a crappy thing, but it was something the kid was going to need to survive. Kwazii nodded and held out another ration bar. 

“Hell yeah you will.”

 

###

 

“That bad, huh?” asked Dashi, who leaned casually against the CIC railing. The glow from her blue half-visor twinkled in the dim light, competing with the galaxy map for illumination and losing.

“Worse,” muttered Barnacles as he made his way over from the elevator, running a hand through the fur on his head to try and mitigate the smashing effect from his helmet. “The reports of Reapers hitting Antarctica hard are definitely not overstated. We’re starting to see what they’ve done to Peso’s people and it’s absolutely horrifying.”

Dashi grimaced. “On that note, I was thinking tonight would be a fabulous opportunity to head to Starboard Observation and get smashed.” Barnacles snorted a laugh at his best friend.

“I have no doubt that Kwazii will join you in that endeavor,” he said, walking up and resting his forearms on the railing. “Peso might, too, at that. He took it pretty hard.”

“I bet. But you?” said the little dachshund. Outwardly, she remained totally relaxed, but her voice carried an edge. “When do you get a break?” Barnacles raised an eyebrow at her.

“When the Reapers are destroyed and Arctic is safe,” he rumbled, his eyes darting back to the map. “Until all the council races are safe,” he amended.

“You’ll crash before then if you don’t take some downtime,” she insisted. “And then you’ll be no good to me. Or Canidae.” 

“I see how it is,” said Barnacles with a half-smile. 

“Hey, I’ve got a planet of my own to worry about you know,” Dashi said, patting him companionably on the back, before pushing off of the railing. “I’m heading back to the Battery—you can have your bridge back.” Before she disappeared around the corner to the elevator, Dashi turned and pointed. “0900 standard, Starboard Observation. Don’t make me come find you.” 

“We’ll see,” said Barnacles, waving her away before going back to staring aimlessly into the galaxy map.

He’d be there.

 

###

 

“Barnacles-Commander, your assistance is necessary.” 

Barnacles looked up from his place at the galaxy map, its various stars twinkling up and glinting off of his fur. He grunted and spoke into his comm, “Tunip. Everything alright?”

“We must achieve consensus,” came the vegemal’s sensible, tinny voice. “Barnacles-Commander is the best option for necessary input.”

“On my way,” Barnacles replied. Through a second channel, he contacted Dashi. “I’m heading for the galley; keep an eye on the road?”

“Aye Captain,” she said without hesitation. “I was just about done with these calibrations anyway.”

“Thanks,” he said, cut the comm and headed towards the crew deck. Once he arrived, Barnacles moved at a healthy clip, nodding to Kwazii on the way. The large tabby was clearly just leaving the kitchen, carrying two bowls in one hand and paper-wrapped package in the other. He grinned widely at the Commander as Barnacles jogged by.

“He’s on a good one today, Skipper. I’ll schedule the memorial for your taste buds for tomorrow.” 

“Dashi’s throwing one in Starboard Observation tonight, 0900,” said Barnacles with a shrug. “Why wait?”

“Oh, I’ll be there.” Kwazii laughed hard and elbowed him in passing. “That dog is damn near psychic.”

Barnacles glowered good-naturedly at Kwazii, whose overly amused chuckles followed Barnacles into the kitchen. The vegemals were scurrying about, except for Tunip, who stood patiently nearest the door and held out a spoon to him.

“Barnacles-Commander, thank you for assisting us in this matter. We found that we required a… different perspective. Does this recipe require garlic?”

Barnacles groaned internally. It was going to be a long afternoon.

 

###

 

Rather than sit at the communal tables with his meal, Kwazii headed directly to the medbay. He strode in and found Peso exactly where he expected to—at his desk, red-rimmed eyes staring into a datapad.

“Tunip mentioned you hadn’t been by yet,” said Kwazii, setting one of the bowls and the bag next to Peso’s elbow. “I figured you could use some lunch.”

Peso looked at the bowl, then at Kwazii in confusion. Kwazii kept talking. 

“You know, food. In the belly. Makes the body go.”

“I’m not—“ Peso tried, and Kwazii sat in his guest chair uninvited. 

“Yeah you are. You’re also sick to death over what happened today.” Peso listened silently. “Mostly because it was bloody disgusting. And you feel guilty that you can still eat, and for the fact that you can’t do a bleeding thing except sit on this boat.” Kwazii set his own bowl in front of him and dug a spoon into it. It looked like some kind of kibble, sprinkled with unidentified protein chunks, some of which had smiley faces stamped on them. He shrugged and took a huge spoonful, chewed thoughtfully. Peso stared into the distance and considered. 

“You’re a medic, kid. This is going to be hell on you. You’re gonna have to get angry, and you’re gonna need to eat so you can beat the snot out of those Reapers.” Kwazii prodded at the outside of Peso’s bowl with his spoon. Peso reluctantly picked up his own spoon and poked at the contents.

“Why do they stamp everything with smiley faces?” Peso asked in a small voice.

“Because the vegemals are absolutely barmy,” Kwazii said around a mouthful of kibble. “But they keep shoving bags of fish biscuits at me, and I’ll forgive it.”

“Fish biscuits?” said Peso with just a little more hope than he’d had fifteen minutes before. Kwazii smiled. 

“Bag.”

Peso dropped the spoon into the bowl and went straight for the bag. Kwazii smiled, sat back, and poured the last of the kibble directly into his mouth.

“You’re gonna be alright, kid,” he said through crunches. It wasn’t entirely intelligible, but Peso understood him nonetheless.

 

###

 

“Commander,” came a twanging drawl through his comms. “I’ve got somethin’ you oughta see on the double.”

Barnacles was working through a second, enormous bowl of octo-kibble at the communal eating area. He set his spoon down and wiped his mouth before responding, as though Tweak were addressing him in person.

“How bad is it?” he asked, calmly.

“Not bad at all, Cap. Just a few improvements you might like to see ‘fore I implement ‘em.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” he said with a sigh. “I’m not sure I needed another crisis today. I’ll be down shortly.”

“You busy? ‘Cause it’ll keep if it needs to.”

“Tweak, I was under the impression that ‘on the double’ meant ‘quickly’.”

“Well yeah, but if you’re in the middle of something, or—“

“I’m on my way, Tweak,” the Commander said, cutting her off before she could put her giant, bunny-sized paw in her mouth. 

“Alrighty, Cap, see you in a wink.”

Barnacles stood and found Barrot already clearing his bowl. “Thank you, Barrot,” he said with a nod. 

“Chiba!” the vegemal declared in response, clicking excitedly as he retreated to the kitchen. 

Barnacles straightened his shirt and headed for the cargo bay. Tweak ambushed him as he stepped out of the elevator.

“Cap, you’ve gotta see this.” She grabbed his elbow and all but dragged him toward what served as the small hanger bay. There, suspended over the end of the space was a vehicle unlike any he should be able to recognize; smaller than the Mako, it was vaguely triangular and looked as though three crewmembers would have to squeeze in. Barnacles tilted his head at it. 

“I call it the Hammerhead,” said Tweak with a grin, proudly leaning back into her heels. “It uses localized mass effect fields to hover above the ground.”

“I see,” said Barnacles as he nodded slowly. “We needed this for…?” He trusted Tweak’s instincts, but it was clear this must have taken her quite some time, and yet he couldn’t figure out where this one was going. He caught a hint of disappointment on her face, but Tweak quickly schooled her features and went on, offering leading questions.

“For places where the Alliance wants to drop an N7 because he’s the only chance they have of completing a mission because he’s apparently supposed to be lavaproof?” Barnacles raised his eyebrow, beginning to understand. “It bounces off the ground… including unstable plates barely solidified over magma?”

“Tweak… you’re a genius,” Barnacles declared as comprehension dawned. He circled a massive paw around her slender bunny shoulders and squeezed, and her mint complexion went faintly pink. 

“Aww shucks, Cap,” she said, patting him back fondly before he released her. “You’re the one with all the Spectre material requisitions. I just weld ‘em together. I also made myself an automatic carrot roaster, just so you know.” 

“This isn’t just welding, woman,” he said, running a hand over one of the rounded underside of the engines, admiring her handiwork. “This is witchcraft.”

Tweak snorted a laugh. “Dunno about all that. But it _is_ a pretty sweet ride, if you ask me.”

“Dashi,” Barnacles said into his comm. “Set a course for the Ismar Frontier. I think it’s time we visit Zeona.”

“Aye Commander,” came Dashi’s disembodied voice. “I’m on it.”

“Y’know,” said Tweak, “We should probably test it on a planet that isn’t gonna set you on fire, Cap.”

“There are terran planets in the system we can hit first,” Barnacles said with a shrug. “And I’ve got the best engineer in the galaxy.”

“Get out,” she said with a playful smack to his arm. He laughed. “No really, get out. If you’re going to take this contraption out, I need to make sure it’s ready, and we’ll be there quicker’n two shakes of a varren’s tail.”

“Alright, alright,” he said holding his hands up in surrender. “Call in a vegemal or two if you need help. Kwazii might be game, as well—” 

“Out.”

He backed toward the elevator. “Starboard Observation, 0900?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Dashi decided we could all use a drink.”

“I’ll be there if’n you leave me alone to work now, get me?”

“Aye,” he said with a grin, but something stopped him in his tracks. 

“Tweak, why are all our vehicles named after sharks?” 

The engineer looked up and tilted her head at him. “I like ‘em. Sleek, smooth, purpose-built.” She shrugged. “I loved the beaches and the oceans back on Burrow, but everybunny seemed so afraid of ‘em. And I just wanted to meet ‘em. Until I did—then I wasn’t all that keen on meeting ‘em again,” she said, unconsciously patting her notched ear. “Still pretty amazin’ creatures, though.”

“You wanted to meet the sharks?” he asked, bemused.

“Yup,” she said with a nod. “I was a weird kitten.”

Barnacles laughed. “Remind me to tell you about the orcas on my planet.”

 

###

 

When Kwazii arrived in Starboard Observation closer to 0930, he looked around and found Peso in deep conversation with Shellington over near the window, and a knot of laughing crew by the bar. He held a paw out to the dumbo octopus who was sitting in his elevated, motorized seat parked closest to the door, drink in one tentacle, datapad in another. Inkling looked up, slapped his paw with a yet another tentacle and grinned. 

“Reminds me. Still need to run tests on synthesizing feline allergens. Seems effective for non-lethal neutralization of organic enemies.” He shrugged. “Personality too difficult to replicate.”

Kwazii burst out laughing and thumped Inkling on the shoulder. “Hysterical, Doc. I’ll eat you last.”

“More lethal than I look,” said Inkling, though he too was grinning. He nodded towards the bar where the Commander, Dashi, and Tweak were standing, laughing at something Tweak was trying to do with a glass shaker filled with clear liquid and carrot sticks. “Try them; they started right on time.”

“Kwazii!” exclaimed Tweak. “You’ll taste this right?” He didn’t even need to ask what was in it.

“Sure thing,” he said, chest swelling with bravado. “But I’m not eating the carrots.”

“I got you, buddy,” said Tweak. 

“Hold on, that was for me—“ said Dashi, draining the glass in her hand and setting it on the bar. “I’m sadly empty-handed.” Barnacles barked a laugh and playfully wrapped his hand around Dashi’s face, drawing her into his chest as she swatted at him and made indignant yet muffled sounds of protest. 

“No, trust me. You don’t want to drink that,” he said, laughing and trying not to double over as she jabbed at his sides with her sharp little paws. Kwazii laughed hard, trailing off when Tweak decanted the now orangey drink into a glass and handed it to him. Barnacles had freed Dashi and was taking a sip from his beer bottle as though nothing had happened, and Dashi was glowering at him, an expression that looked as though it were about to crack into a smile at any moment, until it did. She still aimed a kick at his shin, but she hadn’t stepped out of the Commander’s personal space. Kwazii raised an eyebrow and leaned in to take the drink.

“When did that happen?” he murmured low as he took a sip. It tasted like citrusy sunshine, complete with the six thousand degree surface and he coughed, which conveniently covered Tweak’s response.

“In about two hours, if I’m not wrong,” Tweak murmured at about the same level, and began crunching on the sauced carrot. “Been a long time comin’. Y’all just haven’t been paying attention.” Just then, Peso wandered up and held his own empty glass out. 

“I uh. I think I need a refill,” he said with a shy smile. Tweak and Kwazii cheered.

“I got you, buddy,” they said in unison, exchanged a look, then set to digging through the liquor cabinets for something that might not outright destroy the kid. Someone had begun playing music (probably Inkling), and Tunip came through the door carrying a tray of snacks that would have fed twenty to a new round of cheering.

It occurred to Kwazii that this was the best crew he’d ever served with; these were his family, this was what he was fighting for. And the Reapers had no chance at all.

 

###

 

Kwazii sat up with a start, breathing hard. He sat up in his average-cat-sized bed and rubbed his eyes while wildly taking in his surroundings. Bed, yarn ball, drawers, and a crew photo-- the large window, yes! Surrounded by water. He flopped backwards with a sigh of relief. He really hadn’t needed that third helping of fish biscuits. Or that sponge cake. Or, well. The point was, his stomach had been fat full of treats when he’d hit the bunk and… ugh. He sprang from his bunk and padded down the hallway towards the lav.

Space. Shotguns. Armor. Kwazii shook his head quick, licked his paw and distractedly rubbed behind one ear. When he looked up again, he had almost run into Dashi.

“Wha!” he said in alarm, and she hopped back a step, her ears pressed down to her head in stark contrast with her cheerful pink pajama shirt.

“Kwazii! Wh- What are you doing up?” she said, unnecessarily patting at her cheeks.

“I had some really, really weird dreams,” he said, totally oblivious of her shift from one foot to another. “We were in space, Dashi! And we were heroes! Crikey!” He shook his head. “It felt like it lasted years! We were saving the galaxy! And we were from all different planets! No water anywhere to be seen.” He shivered. “Imagine? Outer space? Cornered, all alone—a ragtag group of braaave adventurers—” he’d really gotten into it now, crouching and holding his hand out for effect. “The last bastion of hope in a galaxy overrun by giant, roach-like buggers with deadly red lasers of destruction… _Reapers_!”

“Fantastic.” Dashi nodded and patted him on the shoulder. “Well, I’m going back to bed.” She set off down the hall and he waved. 

“’Night!" he called after her. "Don’t let the Reapers bite!”

Dashi waved half-heartedly over her shoulder and scurried off. Kwazii cocked his head, wondering briefly why you’d go down that corridor on the way back to the rest of the crew quarters; After all that was the shortest way to the HQ and the captain’s quarters. Eh, he wasn’t terribly worried about it at any rate. Dashi knew her way around. 

Kwazii shrugged and whistled as he walked into the lav, content, amused to have a new story to tell, and happy to be home.

 

###

 

Liara all but stumbled into the galley of the Normandy, rubbing her eyes.

“Rough night on the town?” asked Shepard with a smirk, in the middle of pouring a large mug of coffee. “I mean, I know why _I’m_ tired, but…”

“I didn’t sleep very well,” Liara admitted, gratefully accepting the mug that Shepard was now offering in a selfless act of friendship. “I had the strangest dream, and I’m exhausted.”

“Oh? Anything good?” Shepard said as she took down and filled another mug.

“I just. It had to do with the ocean. _Earth’s_ oceans,” said Liara. “It’s so strange.”

“When have you ever been to Earth’s oceans?” asked Shepard with a raised eyebrow.

“Never,” said Liara. “Which makes it all the more strange. It was very… specific.”

“Huh,” said Shepard, taking a large sip from her own mug. “I guess let Chakwas know if it happens again and she can get you something to help you sleep. We need you at 100%”

Liara waved it off. “Oh, it’s nothing like that, Shepard. Just vivid. I’m sure it’ll be forgotton by noon.” 

“Alright, well,” said Shepard as she began the trip back to the CIC. “Give a yell if it’s not.”

“Aye, Captain,” Liara said distractedly. Shepard stopped in her tracks and tilted her head at Liara. “Commander, of course,” said Liara with an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, Shepard.” Shepard waved if off again. 

“Get some rest,” she said and was gone. Liara wandered back around to her office and began issuing orders as soon as the door was shut behind her. 

“Glyph. Run a search of Earth literature for any historical vehicles referred to as… an ‘Octopod’.”

###


End file.
